An Attempt at Ordinary
by englishtutor
Summary: In which Mary is faced with her greatest challenge-dealing with the Press. Thanks to the lovely Ennui Enigma for her invaluable ideas. This is for aracelyrobles885, because she asked for it.
1. Chapter 1

This story takes place immediately after "His Spare Watson". John is still at his medical conference, and Mary has gone back to work after her three-day leave in Cornwall, helping Sherlock with a case. A companion piece to this story would be the "Vicious Rumors" chapter of "Making Friends and Forming Alliances."

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After a gentle knock, the exam room door opened revealing Janet, the efficient receptionist, her usually friendly face looking uncharacteristically concerned. "Dr. Watson?" she began, "there were people here asking to see you. I think they were reporters."

"Oh, bollocks," Mary sighed. She'd known this day would come eventually, but had hoped to put it off a bit longer. She and John had been married almost a year now, but for the most part had been able to keep that fact from the general public. Even Mary's own colleagues did not yet suspect that the "John Watson" she had married was the same person as the famous blogger detective. "Where are they now?" she asked.

"I sent them out. I hope that's all right," Janet said hesitantly.

"Quite right," Mary nodded emphatically. "Although I expect they've remained just outside the door."

Janet smiled ruefully. "I'm afraid so. Doctor, is it true what they said? Your husband is Sherlock Holmes' assistant?"

"They are a team," Mary replied, a bit impatiently. Yes, Sherlock was the genius, but where would he be without John? In a grave, that's where! Or serving a prison sentence for obstruction of justice or some other charge of that sort, after annoying the police beyond all reason. She rose from her desk and went to the window, which overlooked the alley at the back of the building. "I see they have the back entrance staked out as well." She took a deep breath and made decision. "Okay, Janet, if anyone asks, you can tell them that I've gone for the day."

Janet was appalled. "You're asking me to lie?" she gasped. Dr. Watson never told lies, although she was not above deceit.

"It won't be a lie if you give me two minutes head start," Mary assured her, putting on a jacket and gathering her belongings. "I'm going up to the roof. I'll see you tomorrow."

"But, Doctor," Janet objected. "The roof?"

Mary smiled cheerfully. "Don't worry. It'll be fine." She peered out of her door, saw that no one was looking her way, and slipped out to the stairs.

_The Press have me surrounded. MW_

_Really? I miss all the excitement, don't I? Wish I could rescue you. JW_

_I suppose Mycroft could send a helicopter. I'm on the roof of the clinic. MW_

_Ah. Alternate route B? JW_

_What else? I'll let you know when I get to Baker Street. MW_

She crossed rooftops and ducked down back alleys, following a map on her phone, heading for Baker Street rather than her own flat. John was still out of town, and she had promised him that she would not stay alone at their flat while he was gone. He had not ceased to be haunted by her kidnapping five months earlier, and she was perfectly happy to do anything to stop him from worrying. At last, she arrived at the back of 221B Baker Street. If Mrs. Hudson wasn't home, she was sunk! Rapping at the window of Mrs. Hudson's kitchen, she looked around, hoping no one had managed to follow her.

"My dear!" Mrs. Hudson cried as she raised the window. "What on earth?"

"Sorry to bother you, Mrs. Hudson," Mary said as she climbed in through the window. "There were some reporters at my clinic today. I think I lost them, but I feel certain the house is being watched."

"Oh, it's no bother, dear," she was assured. "But, Mary, you know no reporters can come to this house. Mycroft has seen to it. He'd have them arrested. The restraining order, you know."

"Oh, I know, but even Mycroft can't stop people from watching the front door. I promised John I would stay here with Sherlock until he returns from the Medical Conference, but I really don't relish the scandal if reporters notice me arriving and not leaving until tomorrow. You know how people talk."

"They do little else," Mrs. Hudson nodded wisely. "Go on upstairs, dear. If anyone turns up at the door as shouldn't, I'll deal with them."

Mary smiled. "Woe be to them!" she chuckled, and headed up the stairs, texting John as she went.

Sherlock was engrossed in his laptop as she stood in the door of the flat. "Pursued by paparazzi, I perceive," he stated without looking up.

"I don't even want to know how you worked that out before I ever made it inside the room," Mary told him. "Nice alliteration, though. I congratulate you."

"I didn't hear the front door—you apparently entered through Mrs. Hudson's kitchen window. Why else would you do such a thing unless you were attempting to enter the flat unseen? And who else's attention would you be trying to avoid?" Sherlock intoned, his eyes still glued to the screen of his laptop.

"Do shut up, Sweetheart. I said I didn't want to know," Mary said affectionately, dropping onto the sofa in utter exhaustion. "I used one of the alternate routes you mapped out for me after I was kidnapped that time. It worked out quite well, but I'm not used to so much climbing. Make me some tea, would you? I can't move another step."

"I don't make tea for people," Sherlock protested mildly, finally looking up at her.

"Yes, you do," she returned smartly. "And since you care about my well-being, you'll do this for me, won't you? See, my tongue is absolutely hanging out. I'm dying of thirst."

Sherlock sighed deeply, but rose from his chair and moved towards the kitchen. "I warned you this would happen sooner or later," he told her. "The press was bound to find out about you, especially after this case in Cornwall."

"I know, we did talk about it before I agreed to go with you. And I guess I was prepared to deal with it at the time. But after you had that little talk with the inspector there, I thought everyone had agreed to keep my involvement under wraps."

"It wasn't the inspector who gave you away. It was that young PC who was so enamored of you. Look at the paper there on the floor."

Mary picked up the newspaper. The headlines blared: "Mysterious Mrs. Watson! Is Famous Duo Now a Trio?" She skimmed quickly through the article, mostly an interview of PC Alec Gates, who gushed excessively over her looks. She growled in annoyance. "That little bugger. And he claims to be so fond of me. Did you read this, Sherlock? 'Detective Sherlock Holmes apparently now has two Doctor Watsons at his beck and call.' Beck and call? What are we now, your pet golden retrievers? Beck and call, indeed," she fumed.

Sherlock snorted. "If only they knew the truth of who actually bosses whom in this partnership," he observed sarcastically as he handed her a steaming cup. "Your tea, just as you like it, madam. Will there be anything else? Biscuits, perhaps? Broiled lobster? Sirloin steak?"

Mary's ill mood dissolved in giggles. "If only your public knew the Sherlock I know," she chuckled. "You're such a clown sometimes!"

"They will never know," Sherlock told her sternly, and sat in his chair again, picking up his laptop.

Mary continued mirthfully, "Molly called me this morning. According to Anderson and Donovan, the murder case in Cornwall was actually a cover-up for a torrid love affair."

Sherlock appeared bewildered. "Love affair? Whose love affair? The victim's? Or the perpetrator's?"

Mary could not stop laughing now. "Ours!" she informed him. "Apparently we've just been on a romantic get-away on the Lizard Peninsula. Poor John. What a stooge he must be, not to see what's going on beneath his very nose," she gasped, barely able to breathe. "And what horrible people we are, to treat him so shamefully. And you call yourself his best friend!"

Sherlock was mystified. "Mary, what in heaven's name are you talking about? Wait, wait. . . ." He steepled his hands, deep in thought. "Hmm, that explains their behavior at the crime scene today. Lestrade threatened to make Anderson redundant for some seemingly innocuous statement, which I believe was meant to be an innuendo."

"How sweet of Greg," Mary smiled. "He's such a dear. Well, don't worry, Molly and I have worked out a scheme to teach Scotland Yard a lesson for such rumor-mongering. We'll implement it as soon as John gets back. But can we put off the press until John returns, too? He won't be back for two more days."

"Oh, no, no! That would be a mistake. Look at the headline, Mary. 'Mysterious', they call you. You can't be elusive or cagey now. It would only add to the mystery of your persona and make them all the more keen to uncover your story."

"You're right," Mary nodded thoughtfully. "There would be nothing but endless speculation as to what I may be hiding. I suppose the wisest thing to do would be to call a press conference, and then be as dull and ordinary as possible. Do you think I can pull it off?"

Sherlock snorted derisively. "It would be amusing to watch you attempting to be ordinary," he said.


	2. Chapter 2

"I miss you," she whispered to the dear, familiar image on the screen of her laptop. John smiled.

"I miss you, too," he murmured. "I'll be home in two days' time, though. We'll do something special when I get back." Mary was thankful for modern technology which allowed her to communicate with her absent husband. But seeing him on Skype was no substitute for personal contact. If anything, it made the persistent ache of missing him even more poignant.

She sighed. "Let's lock ourselves in the flat for the weekend and not leave 'til Monday."

"Sounds perfect," John agreed.

"Why didn't I just come with you?" she lamented. She had finished telling him of her escape from the reporters that afternoon, and of Sherlock's plan for dealing with them. A stodgy medical conference sounded like heaven compared to what she was facing on the morrow. "If I hadn't gone to Cornwall, I could have avoided this whole mess!"

"And leave Sherlock without a minder?" John protested. "Anyway, you know you had the time of your life, helping him on that murder case. You wouldn't have missed it for the world. You'd be bored to tears sitting through these sessions here."

"Oh, I don't know about that. There's a write-up in the papers of your talk yesterday. It says you had your audience on the edge of their seats with your exciting stories. I'm so proud of you, Captain." Mary caressed the screen of her laptop with her fingertips, frustrated by its cool aloofness.

John looked down with a shy smile. His complete loss at knowing how to respond to praise was endearing. He was the most exceptional human being Mary had ever known, and he had no idea how extraordinary he was.

So he changed the subject. "I read an article on your exploits in Cornwall. And I'm using your notes to start writing up the blog entry. You did an amazing job down there, love. Keeping Sherlock in line is no picnic, I know, but you handle him like no one else can."

Mary glanced over her shoulder to see Sherlock glowering at them and giggled. "His nibs takes exception to your comments, Captain," she informed him. "Anyway, back to the plan. What do you think?"

"I think a general press conference would be a mistake," John told her, sobering. "You'd get every kind of tabloid reporter there asking the most ridiculous and insidious questions. You'd have to expect inquiries that range from what you take in your coffee to when you plan to have Sherlock's baby."

Mary frowned. "You're right, of course. And I don't even drink coffee anymore. I don't have babies, either, apparently," she added with a lingering hint of bitterness. John smiled comfortingly, now touching the screen in his turn, sharing her feelings of dread at the potential intrusion on this most private part of their lives. Losing their baby earlier that year had been difficult, but they were healing; and the shared experience had solidified their relationship even further, if that were possible. "Do you think they'll find out about that?" she asked softly.

"Be prepared for anything, love," John told her gently. "They'll dig up all they can, and it's no use trying to hide things that are on public record. But instead of inviting all and sundry, just call one of the papers and invite one reporter for an exclusive interview. It will be easier to deal with one person than to try to field questions from dozens."

"I'll call in the morning and get it done over lunch," Mary decided.

"I expect we'll still have to give them a joint interview with the three of us," John went on. "They'll want to see us together at some point. But this should hold them for now, and perhaps put to rest your "mysterious" appellation."

"I'm nervous as hell," she admitted.

He chuckled sympathetically. "I'd tell you to just be yourself, but since the whole idea is for you to appear dull and ordinary, you'll obviously have to be someone else entirely," he told her.

"You say the sweetest things," she smiled.

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"Well, Dr. Watson, let's start with how you met . . . Dr. Watson," the reporter began, pushing the record button on the machine in her hand. The brisk, young woman had arrived promptly at one o'clock and made herself at home at once in the chair in front of Mary's desk. The young doctor hoped that the office setting and desk between them would help set a business-like tone that would thwart nonsensical and overly-personal questions. It was a vain hope.

"Why don't you call me Mary, to avoid the confusion of two Doctors Watson?" she suggested, trying to be as affable as possible. She must present herself as boring but friendly and forthcoming. It wouldn't do to antagonize the Press or to seem as if she were hiding anything. "John and I met at work. Not this clinic, of course; I changed jobs about a year ago. It was a typical office romance. How commonplace can you get, really?"

"But isn't it true," the reporter persisted, "that your husband and Sherlock Holmes solved the mystery of your father's disappearance? Something the government had failed to do over ten years ago?"

Damn. The girl had done her homework. "Well, yes, they did a bit," she admitted reluctantly. "But John and I had already known each other for about a year at the time. It isn't as if we met on a case. That would be unrealistically romantic, wouldn't it?"

"But you've been helping them solve cases ever since," the reporter concluded, looking at her notes.

What else did she have in those notes? Mary wondered. It was alarming to think about. "Ah, no, no. I don't work with them at all. Occasionally I tag along and watch, that's all," Mary tried to keep her tone monotonous and boring. "I have a full-time job of my own. I love being a doctor, and I enjoy working here. I would be quite willing to tell you some stories about my work in the clinic, although I expect you'll find me quite tedious."

The reporter completely ignored this offer. "There's a case someone at NSY told me about in which you not only 'tagged along' to a murder scene, but discovered the cause of death, built a replica of the murder weapon from common household items, and demonstrated how the murder took place by shooting a dart through a second story window," the reporter read from the notes in her lap. She then looked up to see Mary's reaction.

She thought quickly. "Well, that was rather a fluke. John and I were in a taxi on our way out to dinner when he was called in on the case, so I just went with him. It was purely coincidental that I happened to have some experience with the weapon involved. It isn't something that happens frequently at all. Most of my time is spent here in the clinic, or at home waiting for them to finish a case." Mary tried to look as unexciting as possible. She was finding "ordinary" to be a difficult target for her to hit.

The reporter looked skeptical, but didn't pursue the issue. Apparently she had enough information in her notes to go one with, even without Mary's cooperation. "Which brings us to my next question: what is it like, living with Sherlock Holmes? It must be incredibly interesting," the reported transitioned smoothly. Mary mentally rolled her eyes and tried not to lose her smile.

"I wouldn't really know, would I?" she hedged carefully. "I don't live with him. John and I have our own flat." She hesitated, then added. ". . . in an undisclosed location."

"But you've been seen entering and exiting Mr. Holmes' flat at 221B Baker Street, Mrs. Watson," the reporter insisted suggestively. "On numerous occasions."

Well, this was annoying. Here she had carefully taken Alternate Route F (because of the rain) all the way in to work that morning to avoid being seen. Perhaps Alternate Route D with Amendment 2 would have worked? "I visit him, of course," Mary sighed a bit impatiently. "He's a good friend of mine, after all. He visits us, as well. That's what friends do, isn't it?"

If the reporter was a bit taken aback by Mary's tone, she didn't let it stop her. "And your involvement in this case in Cornwall? You were Mr. Holmes' travelling companion and assisted him at the crime scenes," the persistent woman went on.

Mary took a deep breath and tried a verbal barrage. "John is out of town at an important medical conference. Sherlock knows that I am as capable of offering medical opinions as my husband and asked me if I would do him the favor of helping him out. As I said, he is a good friend. And that is what friends do, isn't it? Friends help each other, don't they?" She paused for greater impact, then continued. "But speaking of the medical conference, there's a story worthy of newsprint. I feel this medical conference should have a good deal more press than it's been getting," she deflected.

The two women's eyes met and did battle for several breathless seconds, neither wanting to back down. At last, the reporter's eyes returned to her notebook, her lips tight.

"So you deny taking part in your husband's detective work?"

"Unequivocally. I am an ordinary doctor and I work in this clinic," Mary said firmly, "and that's all I am." And there it was. Her first outright lie. It was obvious the reporter was not buying it, but they were now at an impasse. A change of subject was called for.

And so the reporter took a deep breath and plunged on. "There has been a good deal of speculation over the years as to your husband's relationship to Sherlock Holmes, Mrs. Watson. So what my readers would really like to know is this: how did you come to realize that John Watson isn't really gay?"

That brought an end to Mary's composure. After a second of surprise, she dropped her head into her hand and couldn't stop laughing for a full minute. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry," she gasped at last, regaining control. "I realize this is . . . significant to some people. It's just that, my worry when I was first getting to know John was his rakish reputation as a womanizer."

The reporter, who had at first been alarmed by Mary's excessive amusement, now simply looked disappointed. "So Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Watson are just. . . ."

"Friends. I'm sorry if that's not exciting enough for your public," Mary smiled, forgetting to be dull. "But you know, friendship is every bit as important and significant and necessary to life as romance. Good friends are hard to come by in this world, and when you find one, you should cherish him or her and be properly grateful."

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"I'm afraid you weren't very successful in convincing this reporter that you're dull and ordinary," John said on the phone the next morning. "This article makes you appear quite like your charming self."

"Yes, well," Mary sighed. "I gave it my best shot. I'm just not very good at being boring, I suppose. And all the information she dug up from some source in Scotland Yard worked against me."

"Never mind, love. You can't help being fascinating, can you?" John smiled affectionately.

"It's my curse," Mary agreed, resigned.

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To read about how John and Mary lost their baby, read my story called "Making Friends and Forming Alliances", the chapter entitled "A Price Too High". To read about how John, Mary, and Sherlock taught Scotland Yard a lesson for rumor-mongering, read the chapter called "Vicious Rumors", also in "Making Friends and Forming Alliances."


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